Sunday, 23 June 2013


Where does the doyen of care go when she´s inside her head?
Deep within the cockles of her soul when she goes to her bed,
She´s curled up tight within herself, inside deep & slowly dying,
She´s no longer caring, not seeing & has even given up trying.

Once a young virgin maid, into loveless marriage forced & wed,
So very innocent, afraid & sentenced to the cruel married bed,
It was arranged & spliced by patriarchs, to one who didn’t care,
And to his leering gaze, she lifts not eyes, does not even dare.

Bearer of the sons, keeper of the hearth, the bed & tidy home,
No possessions, no pay, absolutely nothing to call her very own,
No loving word, whipped into submission, never to answer back,
Trapped in a home, not hers, within walls wrapped in very black.

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